by Liana Lefey
The look of resignation in her eyes gave way to one of such grief that it tore his heart. “You say it now,” she quavered, “but in your heart you’ll always know I was once another man’s whore.”
“No! You were never that. Never,” he repeated with vehemence. “Boucher and the beast who did this to you took advantage of a vulnerable young woman. That you managed to survive is a miracle.”
“I can never have children,” she blurted, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “I became pregnant. I thought he would be pleased and stop hurting me, but instead he paid a surgeon to remove the babe and cause me to be barren so it would never happen again.”
“Jacqueline, I—”
“And because he took the life of my unborn child, I killed him.” Her ashen face contorted. “It was by my hand that he died—I shot him. An eye for an eye.”
It all fit now. The missing puzzle pieces dropped into place, and he saw the whole. His vision of a happy family with her at his side crumbled into dust.
“Now you know the whole truth,” she continued, her voice hardening. “I’m utterly ruined, barren, and a murderess.” Bending, she picked up her wrapper and draped it back over herself. “So you see, I cannot marry. Ever.”
Chapter Sixteen
The look on his face said it all as he stared at her, his deep blue eyes full of shock, disappointment, and pity.
She could stand all but the last. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” she said, knotting the sash around her waist with vicious little jerks. “I’ve made peace with what I am, and my life is a good one, all things considered. I’m alive and doing some good in the world.”
Still, he said nothing. “You understand I feel no remorse for killing him,” she went on, filling the uncomfortable silence. “If my lack of contrition consigns me to Hell’s eternal fire, then so be it, but I cannot regret it. The man was a murderer long before we met. He killed others—I know not their exact number, but it was more than a dozen—and had their bodies hidden. He thought himself immune to justice. I showed him otherwise.”
It helped to remember her hatred of Fairford, to feel the resurgence of her old wrath. If she didn’t have that anger to lean on now and keep her strong, self-pity would drown her. She’d lost her child and any others who might have followed. Now she would lose the love of this good man, a man who cared enough to want her for his wife, a man she’d grown to love more deeply than she’d thought, if the pain she was experiencing was any sort of gauge.
“Mon Dieu, say something,” she demanded, fighting back a fresh bout of tears. She tensed as he stumbled toward her like a drunken man. His eyes had filled with tears, too, but he didn’t seem to care.
And then his arms were around her.
For a moment, she stood in a state of complete astonishment, unsure what to do. He shook like a tree in a storm, his breath coming in great, shuddering gasps at her ear as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.
Softening, she returned his embrace, the ache in her breast almost unbearable as she reached up to stroke his hair. He was such a good, kindhearted man. “Shh. Don’t be troubled for my sake,” she whispered. “As I said, I’ve made peace with my lot.”
“No, you’ve given up,” he accused, his voice rough with emotion as he pulled back to look her in the eyes. “You’ve decided you’re not good enough—but you’re wrong.”
“But…I’m a murderer,” she whispered, unable to fathom how he could possibly overlook such a thing. “I shot him in cold blood and watched him die—and I felt nothing but satisfaction. Does it not make you afraid to know I’m capable of such a thing?”
His expression grew grim. “What you did was not murder. You meted out justice with good cause and ended a terrible evil. He was the criminal, not you. Had I been present and known of his deeds, I’d have shot him myself and spared you this undeserved guilt. He tortured you and took the life of your child. If such actions are undeserving of retribution in the form of a slow and painful demise, then no man is deserving of death. You ended his life too quickly, in my opinion.” His gentle fingers stroked the hair back from her face. “And no, I don’t fear you. Not in the least.”
Hope mingled with disbelief. “But what of my scars? Do you not find them revolting?”
In answer, he bent and kissed her as the butterfly kisses the flower. “I’ve scars aplenty, and I know them for what they are: evidence of having won a battle, of having survived. Our bodies—and the marks they bear—are things we have, not who or what we are. You are not your scars, Jacqueline, any more than I am mine. No mark on your body can change the way I feel about you.”
All at once, the desire she’d been keeping banked blazed high and swept through her. Emboldened, she stretched up and kissed him back. Emotion swelled as his lips moved over hers, as his arms once more closed around her.
Every shred of inhibition evaporated. Reaching up, she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer. His response was instant in the tightening of his embrace, in the hardening of his nethers against her belly.
For the first time in years, she felt no fear of a man’s desire for her.
When his hands reached inside her wrapper to caress the bare skin beneath, she didn’t tense—until his fingers ran across a ladder of scars. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause to explore the different texture. His hands skimmed lightly over, leaving an intermittent trail of sensation that made her sigh with want.
An overwhelming need to touch him took over, and Jacqueline reached beneath his jacket to unbutton his waistcoat. Her urgency must have translated itself, because he shrugged it off and began to undress. A few more tugs, and his linen shirt pulled free of his breeches and over his head.
She drew back in surprise. He’d said he was scarred, but she hadn’t really believed him. His chest was marked all over with them. Some were mere nicks. Others were more serious in nature.
“See this long one here?” he murmured, guiding her hand diagonally across his belly. “That’s where a thief tried to gut me. Nearly succeeded, too. Had he applied just a bit more pressure, I’d not be here.” He shifted her fingers to an ugly slash just beneath his ribs. “That’s where a man stabbed me while trying to escape when I caught him attempting to steal another man’s horse.”
One by one he pointed out his scars, telling her how he’d acquired each. He didn’t have nearly as many as she, but he had a fair few, some of them quite alarming. One in particular, a long, thin scar that ran vertically all the way from one shoulder down his back, looked as if someone had tried to cut him in half.
“I earned that one when a man tried to split my head open with a cutlass,” he said, chuckling at her gasp. “I ducked, and the curve of his blade ran the length of my back instead. It looks worse than it is—my men were already pulling him away when he got me. It’s naught but a scratch compared to most of the others.”
Her fingers traced the shiny, pink skin. “You are lucky to be alive.”
Twilight eyes stared into hers as he cupped her face between his warm, dry palms. “More so now than ever before. Don’t deny me, Jacqueline. Don’t turn me away.”
Her answer came in the form of a kiss. She didn’t protest when his strong arms crushed her against the unyielding wall of his chest. She didn’t protest when he backed her up against the bed and fell with her onto it. Nor did she flinch when he parted the halves of her robe to view her nakedness, or when his lips grazed her belly, pausing to press gentle kisses against it one after another, blazing a trail upward.
A moan escaped her as his hot mouth closed over one hardened nipple, sending lightning streaks of pleasure racing down through her. When she could stand it no more, she nudged him toward the other and clutched his hair, awash in ecstasy as he brushed his fingertips against the mound’s outer flesh while his lips and tongue assaulted its sensitive peak.
The secret place between her legs began to throb, the hardness at the juncture of his thighs inflaming her hunger. Reaching down betw
een them, she felt the turgid length of his shaft as it strained against confinement.
A low groan issued from Will’s throat, followed by a chuckle. “Careful, unless you wish to bring our pleasure to a premature end.”
Our pleasure. Not just his own. “What would you have me do?”
His blue eyes twinkled. “For now? Be still.” Levering himself up, he stood and unbuttoned his breeches.
For one terrifying moment, Jacqueline worried the sight of his member might repulse her and ruin everything. But she experienced neither apprehension nor revulsion as his eager manhood sprang free to jut proudly from his body. Instead, lust cast its cloak over her, making her limbs feel languorous and heavy.
Kicking his shoes off and his breeches away, Will bent and peeled the stockings from his strong calves and feet. When he stood, her eyes devoured his long, lithe form. She’d imagined what he might look like unclothed, and her imagination hadn’t been far off the mark. Lean muscle rippled along his limbs and torso.
He’s beautiful, scars and all.
Even as she thought it, she realized he was looking at her with the same sentiment shining in his eyes. A flush stung her cheeks. Yet his desire—which remained evident—didn’t wane on seeing the ruin of her flesh. Unlike the monster she’d known before, she could tell Will took no pleasure in her scars. He simply saw past them.
Parting her knees, she invited him to cradle himself between her thighs.
He accepted the summons, and Jacqueline suppressed a groan as the hot length of him rubbed against her swollen flesh, parting her slick folds. Skimming her palms over his shoulders, she reveled in the hardness of muscle and bone, in the supple textures beneath her fingers. “I’m yours, Will. Now and forever,” she whispered against his neck. Digging her fingers into his flesh, she silently urged him to claim her.
In answer, he withdrew. She had only a moment to be confused, however, for in the next instant, he lay down beside her. Her excitement rose to a new level as his intent became clear. “You are certain?”
His answer was to grasp her about the waist and lift.
Shifting on her knees, she maneuvered to straddle him. Being atop a man was an entirely new sensation. Looking down on him imparted a heady feeling of power. He was vulnerable. She was the one in control.
Pressed against her mons, his member jerked and strained. She grasped his thickness and stroked its silky-smooth head with her thumb, watching in fascination as a clear, viscous pearl formed at its tip. Swirling the pad of her thumb across it in small circles elicited an agonized groan from the man beneath her.
Lust pounded through her veins, demanding satisfaction. Shifting back and rising to her knees, she impaled herself upon him. The slow penetration of her throbbing core as she sheathed his rock hard flesh was sheer bliss.
His hips thrust upward, and the gentle jolt of impact as he bottomed sent a burst of intense pleasure rocketing through her. The sensation was so exquisite that she couldn’t help gasping aloud. Eager to experience it again, she rose up, withdrawing almost completely, and was gratified to hear his soft moan join hers as she slid back down to seat herself firmly against him.
Finding a rhythm that seemed to satisfy them both, Jacqueline rode him. Her every downward thrust was met, her every soft exclamation echoed by him, and she found herself delighting in his pleasure as much as her own.
Tension mounted as their breaths came fast and ragged, until she was sure she’d shatter into a thousand pieces if something didn’t happen soon. Then, it reached its zenith and the cord snapped, plunging her into a maelstrom of ecstasy. Closing her eyes, she let go and let the tide carry her into the depths.
With a powerful upward surge, Will clasped her hips and drove into her. A hard tremor shook him, and he pulled her down to bury his face in the fall of her hair. Deep in the place where their bodies were joined, Jacqueline felt his shaft swell to granite hardness an instant before sudden heat blossomed. His release triggered another, even more intense wave of pleasure. Throwing back her head, she gave herself up to it wholly.
Before the sensation could subside, Will shifted, pulling her into his chest and rolling until she lay beneath him. She didn’t mind in the least, and told him so by clasping his waist with her knees as he thrust into her a few more times, shuddered, and then collapsed.
As the fullness of his weight settled against her, pressing her into the mattress, Jacqueline reveled in the sound of his gasping, uneven breaths and in the feel of his galloping heartbeat against her breasts. A sense of euphoria swept over her as she held him close, tangling her fingers in his damp hair.
For the longest time she’d thought herself forever destined to be alone. Now, everything had changed.
…
Will lay beside Jacqueline, saturated by a feeling of deep satisfaction. She’s mine.
“Tell me what you see when you think of the future,” she murmured.
“I see us together, ridiculously happy.”
Raising herself up on one elbow, she peered down at him. “And will you stay here and remain a teacher or go back to being a constable?”
A worm of disquiet wriggled in his conscience. “I’m uncertain,” he told her honestly. “I love being a constable,” he admitted. But if her past ever came to light… He doubted Gonson would be happy to see one of his Boys married to a former courtesan—especially one who’d killed a man, however justifiable the act had been. It wouldn’t reflect well on him or help further his goal of establishing a legitimate policing force in London. “My work is important.”
“Well, there is an opening in our district.”
She means Birdsley. Though sad that it had come about under such circumstances, he couldn’t help feeling a little hopeful at the prospect of taking the man’s place. He’d have to resign as one of the Boys, but he’d still be helping enforce law and order in his city. “I’ll certainly consider it. But let us wait a while before deciding our course.”
“Why did you become a constable?”
He shrugged. “It’s in my blood, I suppose. My father was a watchman and one of the only honest thief-takers in London in his day. Never made enough to escape the seedy side of Town—not with eight children to feed—but he made enough to provide for us.”
Her fingertips grazed his arm from shoulder to wrist, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. “How did he die?”
The loss still pained him, but it was an old, familiar pain. “He was killed while collaring a burglar. His death left our mother without means. Without enough to pay the rent, she and my youngest three sisters divided themselves between my married sisters’ homes until the girls could find work.”
A sympathetic crease appeared between her brows. “How sad to have to leave behind their home so soon after such a tragedy. But you mentioned only your sisters. Where did you go, if not with one of them?”
“I was fifteen, a bit surly, and always hungry, all of which made me somewhat less than welcomed by my sisters’ husbands. I was offered apprenticeships by two of them, but I had no desire to become a butcher or a tanner. Nor did I crave working long, hard hours for naught but a shared room in one of their houses until my apprenticeship was complete.”
“What did you do?”
Will laughed a little, remembering what a quandary he’d been in at the time. “I appealed to my eldest sister’s husband, Nigel, who is a barrister. He’d taken my mother in, but refused to shelter me. When I was eight, I had played a rather nasty prank on him. He’d intended to ask for Charlotte’s hand the night I slipped a bladder filled with rotten fish guts beneath his rear just as he sat at dinner. It earned me his eternal enmity.” It had also earned him one of the worst whippings Father had ever given him.
Jacqueline was laughing. “I imagine your mother was less than happy, too.”
“She made me clean it up.”
Her amusement suddenly transformed to outrage. “But some seven years had passed between then and your need for a home. Surely he did not hold a
grudge for so long against a child?”
“Oh, he most assuredly did,” he replied drily. “Nigel is the kind of man to never forget an insult. He gave me a week to make other arrangements.” Charlotte had begged, cried, and even threatened to leave, to no avail. And Nigel had only disliked him more for having caused him marital discord. “I had my mother beseech him to write a letter of recommendation to help get me into King’s College on a scholarship to study law. He agreed and made certain I was accepted—anything to keep me out of his house and Charlotte happy.”
Pulling back, she frowned a little. “You studied law?”
“Graduated the top of my year with merits.”
“Forgive my bluntness, but with such an education, why did you not become a barrister?”
“I was young and disliked the idea of spending my days closeted in an office or a courtroom with a lot of stuffy old men. I craved adventure and wanted to do some good in the world, like my father before me. So when I heard Westminster was putting together a special constabulary and offering a steady wage, I recommended myself. I’ve worked for Sir Gonson ever since.”
“And has it been the grand adventure you envisioned?”
Using the opportunity to put an arm around her bare shoulders, he shrugged. “It’s honorable work, the pay is decent, and it helps make London safer.” He loved fighting on the side of the right. There was little glory in it, but it came with a great deal of personal satisfaction. He noticed she’d fallen silent. “Is something troubling you?”
“No,” she answered unconvincingly. He stared at her, and after a moment she relented. “What will you tell your superiors about me?”
Damn. “That you are the headmistress of a charity school for girls and you come from France, where your sister is a baroness. Need I say more?”
“They will want to know more than that, just as you did. Especially since I’ve been implicated in a terrible crime.”
“They can wonder as much as they like,” he said, hiding his disquiet with nonchalance. “The children’s files will prove your innocence.”